


Side Show

by SureWhyNot9



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Armada
Genre: Carnival AU, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Mer!Swerve, Retro-Futurism AU, Supernatural Elements, circus AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-08 09:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12251526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SureWhyNot9/pseuds/SureWhyNot9
Summary: Step right up, step right up! On your left we have the human ant, capable of lifting a thousand pounds! And if you look to your right, you'll see the pearl of the sea, a rare and exotic mer from a faraway land! Buy some popcorn, stay til dawn—we're here for October and then we're gone!





	1. “The Pearl of the Sea”

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters aren't in any particular order other than vaguely chronological. When something takes place in the past it should be obvious, but I'll make a note anyway.

The paint was itchy and the costume jewelry Swerve was decked out in floated awkwardly in the water. They probably looked nice from the outside, but they weighed a ton before he slipped into his display tank. The one with the wheels. The one currently sitting behind the heavy red curtain that kept him from the curious gazes of the crowd only yards away from him. He could hear them moving around, chattering, shifting in their seats…

No, _focus_. He couldn’t think about that right now. The last thing he needed was to talk himself into a case of nerves right before the show. He’d done this a hundred times before and he could do it a hundred more. He just needed to get his piece out of the way, and then he could enjoy the show.

There was a sudden hush. Still the sound of movement, but not to the same degree as before. He leaned forward to press the speaker button on his side of the glass just in time to catch Swindle’s voice booming out over the speakers.

“—lcome to the show!” The swell of applause following his voice was incredible. Swerve could picture Swindle’s huge smile. He had a presence that filled the whole tent even without the sparkly purple and gold ringmaster getup and amplifier collar. “You’re a beautiful crowd, and we have something really special for you tonight.” Swerve tried to make sure he was calm enough. He was always first out, but if he got too choked up—

Nope. Nnnnope, he was fine, he just had to listen for his cue. He didn’t have to think about it at all, really, they were recreating his first night in the carnival and he knew the events of that night better than any other in his life. He’d been mourning his freedom, terrified and alone and uncertain what they even wanted him for.

The act he had now was a lot more refined, but the story was the same. Poor, lonely mer, far from home, singing his mournful song in a mysterious mer language before being captivated by the carnival and convinced this could be his new home. He got to watch the whole show and as long as his reactions were over the top and appropriate to the acts he didn’t have to think about the audience at all. He shook himself and dragged his attention back to Swindle’s voice.

He was getting into the tension-building part of his speech. “Rescued from a faraway land—” if a lake in Florida counted as far away, sure, “—where he was abandoned and alone—” okay, ‘abandoned’ was a stretch, but Swerve _had_ been alone for a long while when he was captured, “—I give you, The Pearl of the Sea!”

The curtain surrounding Swerve’s tank dropped and Swerve closed his eyes so the spotlight wouldn’t blind him. He waited until he heard the collective gasp before he opened them again, blinking and looking around. He couldn’t see much outside of the main ring, the rest of the tent cast in deep shadow. He made a circuit of his tank, pressing his hands against the glass and blinking out at the darkness. To ‘show ‘em those baby blues’, as Swindle suggested. There was a lot of murmuring. More than Swerve expected.

Before he could psyche himself out, Swindle’s voice cut through his building nervousness. “This beautiful specimen has done our humble carnival the honor of staying among us despite the constant, siren call of the ocean that runs through the veins of every living mer.” Okay, _that_ was ridiculous. Swerve swam over and pressed his hands to the side of the tank Swindle was on. Judging from his posture, the invisible crowd was hanging on his every word. He turned that impossibly bright smile in Swerve’s direction and crossed the space between them with long strides. “Would you share that song with us?”

Swerve placed a hand to his chest, exaggerating his hesitation.

Swindle dropped to one knee, his hand resting opposite Swerve’s on the glass. The audience couldn’t see it, but he was activating the outward speaker system built into the tank. As far as they could tell, he was simply entreating Swerve to sing. “Show these good people the longing you feel for the home you left behind.”

Another few moments of apparent uncertainty, but not enough for Swindle to get frustrated or the crowd to get restless. He nodded and sang out a single note. A test to make sure the tank’s speaker was properly engaged. The audience rippled with excitement.

Swindle’s smile grew. He gave Swerve a wink and bowed to him. The lights changed and Swindle vanished as Swerve took on a solo spotlight.

It took a few slow notes to feel his way into a proper melody. Swindle was full of it, of course. Swerve didn’t have a ‘siren song of the sea’ that he could pull out of thin air. He wasn’t even a very good singer, but apparently the sound of his voice through the water was alien enough that humans found it captivating. None of them had to know that he changed it up every night, or that he was giving them a much slower rendition of whatever he could remember from Minimus’ record collection. He listened to such old music that no one had yet put two and two together.

A light in the upper reaches of the tent flashed twice. He wrapped up by holding the next note twice as long as he needed to and letting it fade away to nothing. There was a beat of silence, and then a spotlight snapped on in the upper reaches of the tent, illuminating Swindle again. “Now! Let me show you the world that has enchanted this creature! Soon, you too will never want to leave!”

And with that, the show was on in full force. Swerve only needed to be as captivated as he always was by each of the acts in turn, and if anyone in the audience was watching him it was only so they knew where to direct their attention next. Hours with his tank baking in a spotlight were uncomfortable, but stationed at the edge of the center ring he had the best seat in the house. It was worth it to see everyone performing up close and personal.

Plus, once it was all over and he was wheeled out of the main tent back to the dressing rooms, he could always look forward to the—

“Betting pool time!” Rodimus crowed. He was busy helping Drift out of his costume but still spotted Swerve as soon as Minimus wheeled him in.

Drift nudged him to keep going, one of his arms thoroughly trapped by the tight fabric he was trying to escape. “Don’t we have to wait for everyone to get done?”

“The Constructicons take forever. Besides, it’s not like the answer’s gonna change.”

Swerve pulled himself up the glass and settled with his arms crossed in the lip of the tank. “Where’s Whirl?”

“That’s a weird name for a song.”

Swerve rolled his eyes. “Oh hush. I’m just wondering because he’s gonna know which one I picked.”

Minimus looked up from where he was locking the wheels of Swerve’s tank in place, so it wouldn’t go rolling off if someone leaned on it by accident. “I will admit, I’m not sure I correctly identified what selection you made myself.”

“Really?”

“But he always uses your music!” Rodimus grunted, pulling on Drift’s shirt. It finally came off with a strange ‘pop’. He went stumbling back into a pile of unused costumes and fell over with a crash.

“I do not have every piece of music in my collection memorized. Perhaps he used a less well-worn record.”

“Actually, it’s a little embarrassing. I—”

“You beautiful jackass!” All four of them turned when Whirl made his usual subtle entrance, throwing the tent door open wide and letting the flap fall on Cyclonus behind him.

Cyclonus caught the tent door and gave Whirl a light shove into the room so he could move past him. Tailgate darted in behind them. For a brief moment Swerve could see through the open door to the main tent beyond, collapsing in on itself as the Constructicons disassembled it. They needed the main structures packed in and ready to go at first light, and that meant a late night getting the train ready to move out.

Whirl walked over and tapped on Swerve’s tank with the back of a claw. A huge grin split his face. “I didn’t think you’d do it!”

“You wouldn’t shut up about it, so I had to give it a try.” Swerve returned Whirl’s smile. “Do you think anyone noticed?”

“Who cares!”

“Wait—” Rodimus waved a hand from the tangle of fabric he found himself in, “what did he do?”

Whirl cackled with obvious delight. “Swerve just rickrolled a thousand people!”


	2. “The Human Ant”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minimus honestly just wants some piece and quiet, but that's not happening today! Or.... most days. Any day, really. Why did he join up again...?

“Come on, you can do it!”

Minimus rolled his eyes and tilted his head back to look at Rodimus. “Rodimus, this is second time you’ve done this—”

“ _Only_ the second!” Rodimus interrupted him to protest.

“—this _week_.” Minimus pushed on. “Rebar and I are exercising, not competing. This is not part of an act.”

“I think this’s turnin’ into a competition whether we want it ‘r not, boss.”

Minimus glanced over at the bench beside him. Rebar was holding a similar barbel to his—longer, of course, to accommodate her much wider shoulder span—with the weights they’d discussed to begin with on either end, and Drift perched on the bar in the middle. He gave Minimus a sheepish wave.

Minimus sighed. “Very well. But if we are to do this you must—”

“Stay still, don’t rock the bar, you’ll drop me if I do and Swindle will throw us off the back of the train if anyone gets hurt right before a show, I _know_.” He was already climbing onto the bench with Minimus, his hands on the bar in Minimus’ grip. “Don’t worry so much, I’ve got this!”

Minimus was slightly less confident that Rodimus ‘had this’. Still, there was no stopping him now that he’d decided this was happening, so Minimus could at least make sure he didn’t hurt himself in the process. He made sure his arms remained steady as Rodimus climbed onto his weights and adjusted himself to better maintain his balance. “Are you ready?”

Rodimus gave him double thumbs up. “Yeah! Do it!” Minimus glared until he remembered that he was supposed to be staying still and obediently clasped his hands around the bar again. His grin didn’t waver.

Minimus glanced over at Rebar, who was waiting patiently for them to settle. “My dear, are you ready?”

“All systems go, boss!”

“Very well. Begin.”

“One!” Rebar’s voice rang out, cheerful and unbothered by the additional weight.

Minimus lowered the bar to just above his chest, then pushed it out to full extension. “Two.”

“Three!”

Truly, Rodimus and Drift were negligible additions compared to the loads he and his companion strongwoman lifted during shows, but their masses were irregular and they—or at least Rodimus—had a tendency to _squirm_. “Four.”

“Five! Don’t think I don’t smell ya, Rattrap, if ya make me drop this I’m gonna eatcha for lunch.”

“Hey, I resent that remark!” Minimus glanced over at Rebar. Rattrap was circling her bench, eyeing the weight she was holding. “I’m just obsoivin’ the show youse guys are puttin’ on.”

“Six.” Rebar obediently lowered Drift into another repetition. “Rattrap, this is not a show. Unless you have something to contribute, I would suggest that you move on.”

Rattrap glanced over at him, then up at Rodimus, still perched between his hands. “I might ‘ave an idea or two.”

“Surely you have something better to do.”

He shrugged, changing his path to walk around Minimus now. “Not really. Oi! Whirl!”

“Whazat?” Whirl’s voice came from across the yard.

“Get a load’a this!” Rattrap waved for someone else to join them. Whirl, apparently, since he was not enough of a distraction on his own.

Minimus huffed and resolved to ignore them both. “Rebar?”

“Seven! Right! Sorry, boss.”

“It’s quite alright.” The bench squeaked slightly as Minimus had to quickly adjust for Rodimus turning and looking over his shoulder. “Eight. Rodimus, please stop moving. I assure you, there is little of interest happening over there.”

As if to refute his point through timing alone, Whirl appeared next to Minimus, on the opposite side of the bench from Rattrap. He bent down, making a show of inspecting the numbers on the weights with his good eye. “Is that really all ya can ‘old?”

“It is not responsible to lift one’s maximum capacity every time one trains. It can lead to injury and— _Rodimus_.” Rodimus froze where he’d been leaning over to get a glimpse of the markings Whirl was looking at. “Either we are going to do this or we are not.”

“Sorry! I got this! No moving.”

“…Everythin’ okay over there?” Rebar asked, still poised.

“Yes, it is. So if these _gentlemen_ would not mind…” Rodimus had the good grace to look sheepish, but Whirl and Rattrap just grinned. The each took a step away from Minimus, though, and he relaxed slightly. “Please continue.”

“Nine!” Rodimus remained perfectly still for one repetition. He even held his breath. Minimus was proud of him.

“Ten.” No sooner had the word left his mouth than Whirl and Rattrap jumped on either side of the weight, holding onto it with claws and knees in Whirl’s case and hands and tail in Rattrap’s. The sudden imbalance would have been enough to throw the weight off and perhaps even led to Minimus dropping it on himself if he hadn’t been expecting _something_ to happen. Their impeccable timing helped too. He slid his hands another inch apart and calmly finished the set.

Whirl and Rattrap were cackling when he set the bar back in its cradle. “See? Ya didn’t even flinch!” Whirl tapped his chest with one claw. “An’ I _know_ ya can lift more than that.”

Minimus brushed his claws away. “As I was saying—”

“Yeah, yeah, it ain’t responsible.” Rattrap waved him off. “But it ain’t like tweedledee an’ tweedledum are the most responsible guys to have as yer extra weight.”

“Hey!” Rodimus hopped off the bar and huffed indignantly. “Me and Drift had a _plan_.”

Rebar sat up and offered Drift a hand down. “You did?”

“Yeah, we—” Rodimus caught Minimus’ eye and crossed his arms. His cheeks flushed slightly. He was probably embarrassed about being caught with an ulterior motive. “We were gonna jump and switch places on the last one.”

Minimus frowned. “That could end with someone seriously hurt.”

“I dunno, it sounds kinda cool.” Rebar scratched at her cheek. “I mean yeah, for sure if ya tried that shit t’day ya woulda got somethin’ broke, but if ya told us b’fore ya did it, it could be rad.”

“Huh. Beastie’s got a point.” Rattrap looked her and Drift over. Minimus didn’t like the appraising look in his eye. “Some sorta alley-oop deal. Can either’a youse throw a guy?”

“Yes, easily.” In fact, it was a proposition worth consideration. Bodily throwing another person would be seen as incredibly impressive, despite the weight involved in the act being much reduced over the lifting over various inanimate objects. “But that is not the point. I was under the impression that we’d already established a _no throwing_ rule with Rebar, given the likelihood of her actually catching whatever is sent her way.” Rebar passed her hand directly in front of her eyes and whistled. “Exactly.”

Rodimus frowned. “Yeah, but you _could_ have caught me, right? If I landed right where Drift was?”

She shrugged. “Well sure, if ya gave me some kinda warnin’.”

“Okay, this I gotta see.” Rattrap walked over and gave Rebar’s shoulder a light shove. “Lay back down, both’a youse, let’s give this a try.”

Rebar went without question, repositioning herself on the bench. Minimus remained sitting upright. “This is going to be dangerous.”

“Oh, come on, please?” Rodimus was already climbing back onto his perch on Minimus’ barbell.

“Yeah, c’mon, Minimus!” He elbowed Whirl in the side and winked. “Ya even got a couple’a spotters this time!”

“Rattrap, I believe you have an extraordinarily broad skillset, but I have serious doubts about your ability to catch seven hundred and fifty pounds should either Rebar or myself drop what we are lifting.”

“Never said I could! But me an’ the Whirlybird ‘ere can run real fast an’ get Knockout if either’a youse gets squished.”

Minimus stared at them in silence for a few moments, beset on all sides by hopeful, playful smiles. Even Rebar seemed excited by the idea, and usually she deferred to his judgement over others’ in matters of safety. Finally he sighed and lay back down. He assumed the correct form to the sounds of excited whooping from his friends. “Drift, Rodimus, do try not to miss.”


	3. “The Rat”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rattrap is a man of many talents, and he can be helpful when he wants to be! Most of the time, he just doesn't want to be.

It was easy to tell when the train was headed to an old standard city. Astrotrain didn’t complain about having to find a new route, Scrapper pulled out and dusted off old tent layouts, and all through the stationary cars there was talk of _new acts_. The tried and true staples were going to be on the roster for sure, but there was a very real possibility that someone might remember all of them from the previous years. So everyone who’d been part of the crew the last time they came through a familiar area put extra effort into finding something new to do.

Swerve especially was fretting over performing to the same crowd twice, but for a different reason. “What if they remember the song from last time? _I_ don’t remember the song from last time! Some people are like that, they’ll have had it stuck in their head for two years and when I come back and do something different they’ll _know_.”

Rattrap shrugged. “Who cares? They either know it or they don’t, ain’t no use frettin’ over it now.” He picked another piece of gravel out of the inner workings of Swerve’s filtration system. “‘Ow come ya never freaked out like this about the other places we’ve hit more’n once?”

“Because no one’s ever _told_ me we were in the exact same place before!” Swerve floated down and pressed his hands to the glass near Rattrap. “I don’t remember seeing specific people, but the crowd’s always so dark in the tent, and we’re always doing such similar things-!”

“If they ain’t toldja about it, it’s ‘cause they didn’ wantcha worryin’.”

“But—my thing—the singing thing only works because no one knows I’m winging it.”

Rattrap glanced up. Swerve was swimming in anxious circles around the lower part of the tank. “Look, woist case scenario? Someone’ll remember it from last time an’ when ya do somethin’ different they’ll think they got it wrong. Recordin’ ain’t allowed, so it ain’t like they got a way ta keep listenin’ to it since then.”

“You’re right. I _know_ you’re right.” Swerve—sighed? It was probably a sigh. He let out a string of bubbles from his gills and sank to the bottom of the tank. He rested his chin on crossed arms, floating a couple inches from the glass floor. “I just haven’t thought about it in a while.  How I don’t know what I’ve sung before, and what might happen if people found out.”

“It ain’t worth thinkin’ about.” Rattrap snapped the cover back onto the filtration system and pressed a couple buttons to reset it. “That’ll take a couple minutes ta kick back on proper. I’ll swing back by ta make sure ‘s woikin’ right. Ya need anythin’ else?”

“No. Thanks for listening to me whine.” Swerve shot upright, sloshing the water in his tank. “Brainstorm!”

Rattrap stepped neatly out of the splash zone. “Whazat?”

“Brainstorm! He sometimes records the shows so he knows if he needs to change the effects! Maybe he recorded the last time we were here!” He pressed his hands to the glass. “Can you ask him? Please? If I can just hear it again I can do something similar and it won’t matter if it’s not the same because—like you said, if someone remembers, they’ll just think they remembered it wrong! Please please please?”

Rattrap waved his hands to stop the begging. “Alright, alright! I’ll ask, but if he don’ got it ya gotta remember it ain’t the end’a the woild.”

“Thank you!” Swerve was floating in the middle of the tank much more calmly when Rattrap left.

Now to find Brainstorm. A quick check of the stationary cars turned up nothing, not in the equipment storage spaces or any of the cars designated for experiments. If he was working on anything _really_ dangerous he might be somewhere further out from the train, but if Rattrap couldn’t find him somewhere on site he wasn’t gonna bother trekking out into the middle of nowhere to find him. He’d come back on his own eventually.

It turned out he didn’t have to go on a big expedition to find him anyway. Brainstorm was in the Constructicons’ makeshift operations tent, and all seven of them were crowded together around a folding table that was littered with large papers, staring at a set of plans tacked up to one of the canvas walls.

Rattrap poked his head in. “Oi, Stormy, the fish wants ta know if ya got any recordin’s’a the show from last time we was out this way.”

Brainstorm didn’t even glance at him. “Nope.”

“Ya sure?”

“I already looked. If I _did_ have a video of the last show we did here this wouldn’t be nearly as annoying, because we’d have a way better idea of what the inside of the main tent actually _looked like_.”

Rattrap sidled up to join them, standing next to Brainstorm and looking at the plans in silence along with the full Constructicon contingent for a good thirty seconds before speaking up. “So… what is it?”

“It’s the schematics we used last time we were here.” Rattrap has to crane around Brainstorm to see Scrapper. He was frowning at the paper like it had personally offended him.

Rattrap waited for any of them to elaborate, but the silence persisted. “And…? What, ya can’t use ‘em again?”

“We can’t, actually.” Brainstorm waved another set of papers at the plans. “These are from before Cyclonus joined up and we started planning for another fifteen vertical feet of walkable platforms for all the acts. The highest point needs to be visible to the entire audience and we can’t just raise the center axis because the angle of the roof can’t be any sharper. Unless…”

Hook interrupted him before he could finish the thought. “No, it can’t be any sharper or the side vents won’t clear smoke from the peak, and they _need_ to be able to do that or we risk the acrobats having problems with smoke inhalation.”

“If someone passes out up there in the middle of the show, they’ll fall and die,” added Long Haul, matter of fact. “And then Swindle will kill all of us.”

Rattrap rolled his eyes. Honestly, all they had to do was raise the outer walls a few feet and extend the risers. It would make the height seem even more impressive without obstructing anyone’s view and they’d have more real estate on the walls for artfully places ventilation. He turned his attention from their bickering to the stack of neatly packed lunchboxes against the side of the tent behind all of them. He snaked out his tail and lifted the top one from the pile without a sound.

Scavenger snorted. “Swin wouldn’t do that. He’d throw one of us off the back of the train while we’re going over a canyon or something.”

“Mm. More dramatic. Good point.”

“ _Focus_. We can’t tell Swindle he has to cut the aerial acts.” Scrapper stretched and resettled, glaring at the offending plans twice as hard. “And he _shouldn’t_ have to. This should work.”

Brainstorm pushed down his particle mask a couple inches to scratch his cheek. “Yeah, but it doesn’t.”

“You’re the one who brought up the smoke issue.” Scavenger mumbled from across the tent, not quite under his breath.

“Because more than half the acts use some sort of pyrotechnic cue, and Rodimus’ act involves literal fire! You should be thanking me for bringing it up _now_ , before you started the build.”

Hook bristled. “We should _thank_ you—”

“Rattrap, _what are you doing_.”

Rattrap paused with the half-eaten sandwich part of the way to his mouth and glanced over, making eye contact with Bonecrusher before taking another big bite. He shoved the food into his cheek to better talk with his mouth full. “Lunch. What’s it look like I’m doin’?”

Bonecrusher bristled. “That ain’t yours, _rat_.”

“Ain’t it?” He held up the lunchbox he’d taken it from and squinted at the word ‘Bonecrusher’ emblazoned on the side in bold black marker. It was impossible to miss. “Well wouldja look at that.” He shrugged and shoved another bite into his mouth without chewing the one that was already there.

Bonecrusher growled and stepped toward him, shoving past the other Constructicons until he reached Scrapper’s outstretched arm. “Don’t. We still have to figure this out.” Bonecrusher subsided but didn’t stop seething.

“Yeah, ‘Crusher, listen to ya supervisor.” Rattrap chewed and swallowed, letting the atmosphere simmer for a moment, then took a slow step toward the tent’s entrance. He lifted his tail, displaying the five other lunchboxes expertly held along its length. “Youse guys won’ miss these, right?”

Scavenger started forward too. “Hey!”

Rattrap grinned. He turned and made a break for the door, not stopping to look back when there was a loud crash, louder swearing, and the sound of at least four sets of heavy-booted feet running after him. He nimbly dodged around Leader-1, who was heading toward the Constructicon’s tent, and called out to him over his shoulder. “Ya might wanna come back later!”

* * *

Leader-1 waited until Scrapper came barreling out of the tent after the rest of his crew—shouting fit to burst a vein—before walking inside. Brainstorm and Hook were standing next to a half-collapsed folding table with nearly identical expressions of vexation. The only difference was that Hook had his eyes covered, like he couldn’t bear to see what his reality had become, and Brainstorm was looking at the ceiling.

Leader-1 took a moment to take in the scene before speaking and decided it was better not to comment. “What are you working on?”

Hook gestured at the plans pinned to one of the walls. “The setup for the main tent.”

“There’s a ventilation problem,” Brainstorm added. “We need to get fifteen more vertical feet without changing the pitch of the roof.” He took a deep breath and looked over at Leader-1. “What’s up? Did you need something?”

“I need a second set of eyes on the adjustments I made to my cannon before I test it.” He walked into the tent and gave the plans on the wall a critical once-over. “It’s not time-sensitive, if you’re busy it can wait.”

“No, it’s good. I can look at your equipment while Scrapper’s dealing with…” he waved a hand toward the door. “That. It’s not like we were getting anywhere with this anyway.”

“Hm.” Leader-1 picked up a paper off the ground near the collapsed table and glanced between it and the plans on the wall. “Is there a reason why can’t you extend the side walls the fifteen feet you need and install additional ventilation in the space you get from that?”

“Yeah, it would—” Brainstorm stopped abruptly. He rifled through the papers in his hand. Looked at the plans. Looked at Hook. Looked back at Leader-1 as if he’d grown a second head. “No, actually, I think that would work. Why didn’t _we_ think of that?”

Hook sighed noisily and headed for the tent’s entrance. “I’ll go chase down Scrapper.”


End file.
